


Sleeping In (Breakfast of Champions)

by sierbane



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Consensual Somnophilia, Dirty Talk, M/M, Rimming, but only a little??, mostly rimming, with a touch of gross fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 01:18:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3917803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sierbane/pseuds/sierbane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve, though. That’s a different story. Steve can’t explain it, and neither can Bucky, really, but he puts it down to some kind of primal instinct. Some lizard-brain sort of thing, where Steve’s subconscious interprets Bucky’s presence as <em>safe</em>, lets him drop off into the kind of deep slumber that Bucky hasn’t seen since Steve was 110lbs and recovering from whatever his most recent illness was.</p><p>Bucky won’t admit it, but it makes something warm bloom inside his chest. That after all they’ve been through, it’s <em>Bucky</em> that can do that for Steve, make him feel secure enough to let his guard down and let his body take what it needs.</p><p>The thing is, it makes him warm in all other sorts of ways, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeping In (Breakfast of Champions)

**Author's Note:**

> In the future, when I look back and chronicle my slow descent into hell, this will probably represent the first step of that journey. Inspired by ipoiledi’s Dining In, conceived whilst high, and partially written in a school library when I should have been writing a paper. Amen.

From what he’s heard, before they made it back to each other, Steve slept lightly, if he slept all. Constantly on alert and ready to hurtle back into awareness, fight whatever real or imagined threat that presented itself. Bucky understands that; hell, Bucky _does_ that. He’s gotten better, with time, but he doubts he’ll ever be able to really shake those habits.

Steve, though. That’s a different story. Steve can’t explain it, and neither can Bucky, really, but he puts it down to some kind of primal instinct. Some lizard-brain sort of thing, where Steve’s subconscious interprets Bucky’s presence as _safe_ , lets him drop off into the kind of deep slumber that Bucky hasn’t seen since Steve was 110lbs and recovering from whatever his most recent illness was.

Bucky won’t admit it, but it makes something warm bloom inside his chest. That after all they’ve been through, it’s _Bucky_ that can do that for Steve, make him feel secure enough to let his guard down and let his body take what it needs.

The thing is, it makes him warm in all other sorts of ways, too.

***

“I wouldn’t mind,” Steve had said, once, when he slipped up and mentioned it one day in bed. Bucky had been running his mouth about how fucking gorgeous Steve was, morning, noon or night, how he wanted to take a day and spend the entire thing, sunrise to sunset, keeping Steve wrecked and messy, exactly like he should be--looking like he did, it was a miracle Bucky managed to do anything else, _Jesus_. How he wanted Steve to wake up full of him, writhing and aching, held open on his fingers or his cock or his tongue, turned on and desperate for him before he was even finished waking up.

Bucky had eyed him critically, which he’d deserved a fucking medal for, given how quickly every spare drop of blood in his body had rushed southward. “‘I wouldn’t mind’ ain’t the same thing as 'I’d like’, Rogers”.

Steve had blushed like God himself was listening in, but hadn’t backed down. “I think,” he’d responded, licking his bitten-red lips like he knew the way right to Bucky’s cock, which he absolutely did, that asshole. “That I might like it.” He’d looked at Bucky resolutely--or, as resolutely as he could, sex-sated and loose-limbed as he was at the time. Of course, Bucky lost the plot somewhere between the subsequent few rounds, because if Bucky was gonna ride Steve and put him away wet he was going to do it _right_.

***

Bucky stretches awake just as the first hints of sunrise begin filtering through their windows. He yawns, jaw cracking loudly in the silence, and looks over at where Steve is lying on his stomach next to him, snoring gently.

Steve had gotten back late last night from a mission, sweaty and soot-stained in his uniform. Bucky, who’d woken up the moment Steve had unlocked the door to their place, had given him a cursory check to make sure there weren’t any injuries that needed tending. He’d seemed a little on edge, at first, restless under Bucky’s hands like he sometimes got when the adrenaline hadn’t quite flushed its way out of his system yet. Bucky had ignored that and nudged him into the shower, feeling particularly validated when Steve exited the bathroom and barely finished toweling off before falling into bed.

Now, though, the sunlight is hitting Steve’s hair just right, turning it golden. His mouth is open, lips parted against the pillow where his face is smushed against it and turned to the side. Steve runs hot like a furnace--even hotter than Bucky--and, like usual, he’s managed to kick the top sheets and blankets away from his body. As more light pours in, more and more of Steve’s pretty pale body is illuminated, from the broad sweep of his shoulders to the slim tuck of his waist and the round, thick muscle of his ass and thighs. Bucky swipes his tongue across his lips, feeling his cock start to firm up in his boxers. Jesus. He’s so fucking lucky to have this, to be able to touch and _take_.

Softly, Bucky runs his flesh hand down the now-straight line of Steve’s spine, feeling the jut of the vertebrae under his fingers. He’d use the metal hand, but for now he wants to feel the light brushes, and though the arm is probably mostly flesh-warm, he doesn’t want to startle Steve with a cold touch right off the bat. Steve mumbles a little when Bucky plays with the short blond hairs at the nape of his neck, stirs slightly when Bucky trails his knuckles down his side, over his ribs, but always shifts back into place peacefully.

Bucky wants to retrace that path with his mouth, so he does. He starts back at the beginning and kisses his way gently down Steve’s body, forcing himself to take it slow. By the time his hands and lips make it down to Steve’s lower back, Bucky's flush with the same warm feeling he gets when he thinks about Steve trusting him enough to sleep soundly, but it’s transformed, thrumming hot and heady under his skin. His mind goes back to the conversation they'd had, once upon a time, and he makes a decision.

He moves past the small of Steve’s back, mouthing at the curve of his ass. He doesn’t sink his teeth in, like he wants to. Not yet. Steve huffs out a breath and Bucky glances up, trying to figure out whether he’s managed to wake Steve up.

It doesn’t look like it. Bucky keeps going, taking a detour past Steve’s ass and scooting back to drop kisses down the back of his thighs, into the bend of his knees. He narrowly avoids getting kicked for that last one, thanks to Steve’s unconscious reflexes. Bucky pauses for a moment and takes in the sight of Steve spread out in front of him. It’s the sort of thing he doesn’t always get to do when Steve’s awake, because Steve’s an impatient little shit, so he plans on enjoying it while he can.

Eventually, though, he makes his way back up to Steve’s ass. Like he could do anything else. Grasping the muscle, Bucky finally spreads Steve’s cheeks. Left-handed, so he can trail the fingers of his right hand down the middle. Getting a good look, Bucky snorts, barely bothering to muffle the sound. Of course Steve had cleaned up last night. Had probably been dead-set on getting some before the exhaustion had kicked in and knocked him right the hell out.

Unable to help himself any longer, Bucky switches his grip so that he’s using both hands to spread Steve and leans in to kiss his hole. It’s gentle, like his other touches. Starting slow, sweet. Nice and soft. Above him Steve sighs and rocks his hips, just barely. Bucky follows up with another kiss and, urged on by the motion and the hot ache in his dick, several broad, flat licks. Steve may not be fully awake but he’s definitely responding, hips moving up and down, making little humming noises and grunts as Bucky switches to little kitten licks before carefully thrusting his tongue past the rim.

“Bucky,” Steve murmurs, low, but still enough for Bucky to hear. Bucky’s cock jerks, and he instinctively grinds down, groaning at the pressure. He rewards Steve, and, fuck it, _himself_ , by digging his tongue in deeper, pushing back firmly at muscle. “Oh, god, _Bucky_.” The hot mix of sleepy lust and just a touch of surprise in Steve voice burns Bucky up, but it also signals that Steve is really waking up.

With more than a little difficulty, Bucky pulls away. “You with me, sweetheart?” He manages, voice hoarse with lust, negotiating the words through swollen, spit-slicked lips. Because, Christ, Bucky needs to know that, needs to know that Steve is all right with this. He props his chin on Steve’s ass, trying to get a glimpse of his face down at the other end of the bed.

“Yes, yeah, Buck, _Jesus_ ,” Steve gasps, dissipating the doubt churning in Bucky’s gut like it was never there. Steve lifts his head from where it’d been buried in the pillow and throws a look over his shoulder; it’s meant to be a glare, Bucky thinks, but the effect is ruined by the lingering vestiges of sleep-softness, the way his pupils are blown out beneath his heavy lids. He’s squirming, hips making abortive thrusts against the mattress like he’s desperate for the friction. Bucky can just imagine the blood-hot flush creeping down his chest, nipples hard and tight and aching from the scratch of the sheets rubbing against them. His hands are still up near his head, fisting in the pillowcase.

Reassured, Bucky feels a smug smile break across his face. “That right, Rogers?” Kneeling up, he coaxes Steve up to do the same and turns his face back down, nuzzling against the cheek he’d propped his chin on. Leisurely, he sucks a bruising kiss into it, kneading the other cheek with his left hand. After a moment he moves back to Steve’s center, trailing kisses along the way until he reaches it. He spreads Steve’s ass to get a better look at the way his tongue has loosened the tight ring of muscle just a little, turned it a dark, bruised pink. He can’t help himself, he thinks as he sways forward to bury his face in there. He’s only human.

At the beginning, Bucky had taken it slow because he’d wanted to ease into it, gradually, get Steve used to it. Now, Bucky takes it slow because he wants to _wreck_ Steve. Keeping Steve’s cheeks pulled apart, he takes his time planting filthy, open-mouthed kisses on his hole, letting his tongue brush against the flesh but never breaching the rim. Steve makes noises like he’s dying for it, whines out “ _please, please_ ”, and Bucky almost loses his resolve right there and then. He’s agonizingly hard, and the sounds coming out of Steve’s mouth are the best and worst things in the world.

The mattress shifts unexpectedly, and Bucky lifts his head up to see that Steve’s arm has moved, probably so he can jerk himself off. “Don’t touch yourself,” he tells Steve, cock throbbing. “If you’re good, I’ll let you go back to humping the mattress, but if I’m bein’ thoughtful and keepin’ my hands off myself, you can sure as hell do the same.”

The sound Steve makes sounds more like a wail than anything else. He drops his head to the pillow. “C’mon, Buck, c’mon, _please_ ,” he begs, “just let me, Jesus, I can’t--” He trails off, moaning, unable to continue his train of thought when Bucky delivers a hard smack to his ass.

“I’ll tease you if I damn well want to,” Bucky replies, but it’s worthless, because he’s leaning back in anyway, finally screwing his tongue in deep like Steve wants, fucking it in and out of him in pointed strokes, getting sloppy. The “oh, _oh_ ,” Steve makes when Bucky curls his tongue is fucking amazing, so he does it again. He thinks about fingering him, too, sliding one or two, maybe even three, Christ, in up to the knuckles and letting Steve fuck himself on them. No, he thinks, not this time; he wants to feel Steve coming on just his tongue.

Decision made, Bucky gets his hands tight on Steve’s hips, spreads his legs wider and pushes him down just a bit, maneuvers Steve into a position and rhythm that means Steve can alternate between fucking himself on Bucky’ tongue and rubbing off on the mattress beneath him. Steve rocks back and forth like he can’t decide which sensation to focus on, whining. He’s long past coherence and Bucky can’t parse out individual words from the pleading noises tumbling out of his lips. Bucky feels drunk on it; he gives in, just can’t resist, drags a hand down to where his tongue is, catches his thumb on the rim and pushes it in, just to give Steve a little something extra to shove back on.

Just like that, Steve’s hips stutter to a halt and he comes, moaning desperately, clenching up sweetly, tightly around Bucky. He sounds almost surprised, and while Bucky wishes he could see the wide-eyed, shocked look Steve’s probably wearing, he wouldn’t give his current view up for the world.

“Keep going, sweetheart,” Bucky grits out, leaning back and withdrawing the hand he’d used to finger Steve once the walls of Steve’s body stop fluttering around him. Fucked-out, Steve struggles to comply, and Bucky uses the hold he has on Steve’s hips to coax him through it. “That’s it, that’s it, you’re doing so fuckin’ good,” Bucky says, as Steve rolls his hips down into the bed and whimpers, fucking _whimpers_ , Jesus. Keeping one hand, the metal one, gripped hard on Steve’s hip, Bucky uses his flesh hand to shove the waistband of his boxers just far enough down his hips to pull out his own neglected cock, giving it a few rough tugs. The head, dusky and painful-looking, catches when he fists it and Bucky growls, yanking his hand away and bringing it up to his mouth to spit on it before resuming.

Bucky sets a brisk pace, stripping his cock forcefully enough that he rocks forward a little into Steve, almost knocking him off balance. Steve moans helplessly in response, and Bucky pictures his cock, oversensitive and still softening, grinding into the growing wet spot below him, fucking into the slick remnants of his own come. It’s that thought that does Bucky in. His hand stills as he shudders through his orgasm, groaning harshly. The hot come that spurts out stripes Steve’s ass; a little slides into the dip of his lower back, and more dribbles down between his cheeks.

Bucky rides it out for a moment longer, taking in the picture in front of him. What a picture it is, too. Christ. Without thinking he pumps his cock again, hissing when the sensation is too much. He lets go of his cock and moves both of his hands to Steve’s thighs, pushing his legs apart for a better look and absently rubbing little circles into the unmarked skin.

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve huffs, sounding just a touch embarrassed, from where he’s leaning on his elbows. His ass is still up in the air. There’s a hint of amusement in his voice, too, and he shifts like he’s going to try to get up properly.

“Hey, hold up,” Bucky says, languid with pleasure. The sense of urgency has been fucked out of him, and he wants to savor it. “C’mon, Steve, let me enjoy this.”

Steve chuckles. “What, you tellin’ me you didn’t like that? I think I’m insulted.” He moves, but just enough to turn around and look back at Bucky, eyebrows draw down in mock-affront.

“Nah,” Bucky replies. “I’m just saying I’m not done yet.”

Steve shoots him a questioning glance. Bucky wishes he could keep looking, but he’s too busy tipping forward and setting his tongue to Steve’s skin, licking up the trails of still-warm come streaking Steve’s body. He contents himself with the startled moan Steve lets out, the flustered little _unh, unh_ sounds he makes as Bucky gradually moves from Steve’s lower back to his slackened hole. It feels dirty as hell; he can tell from the noises Steve’s making that he’s so, so into it, though he’d be too embarrassed to admit it. Bucky fucking _loves_ it, all of it, from the taste of his come mixed with Steve’s sweat to the way Steve’s entire upper body, from his spine to the tips of his ears, turns a lush pink. It’s almost enough to get Bucky going again. Even he’s got to admit, though, that they should probably get up and clean up. Well, clean up in the way God intended.

Only when he’s finished tongueing up every last bitter drop of come does Bucky collapse heavily on Steve’s back. Steve grunts on impact and lets himself falter, hitting the bed flatly with an ‘oof’. Bucky laughs, pleased as punch.

Steve shifts, probably in part to better accommodate Bucky’s weight and in part to get some friction against what Bucky suspects is a burgeoning hard-on. Settling in, Steve crosses his arms and props his chin on them. “‘S not nice to start something you don’t plan on finishing, Barnes,” he chides, though there isn’t any real scolding to it. Bucky wriggles on top of him a little and Steve hums out a laugh.

“Can’t spend all day lazing around, Rogers,” Bucky replies. “You know, showers to take, food to eat, asses to kick.” Suddenly, he grins smugly, and leans down to get in real close to Steve, so his mouth is right next to Steve’s ear. “I’m good on that second one, though,” Bucky says, as obnoxiously as possible. “See, my guy made sure I got breakfast in bed. Better’n wheaties, that’s for sure.”

After, Bucky maintains that it was abso-fuckin’-lutely, 100% worth Steve shouldering him off and shoving him out of the bed--especially since he barely felt it on account of laughing so hard.

“You’re terrible, Barnes,” Steve groans, sitting up and scrubbing his hands through his hair. Bucky remains firmly, stubbornly planted on the floor, crossing his arms behind his head.

“Yeah, well,” Bucky says, warmed down to his toes by the way Steve smiles down at him, “no arguments there, pal.”

**Author's Note:**

> If u want to meet me on my home turf, feel free to visit my tumblr trashpit. (I'm sierbane there, too.) :D


End file.
